


February 15

by Saziikins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sherstrade Month, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saziikins/pseuds/Saziikins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Greg don't care much about anniversaries or holidays. But this one means a little more than the others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	February 15

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write much fluff. But I was feeling fluffy. So have some fluff, and please ignore me for being so darned soppy! This may be the only angst-free fic I've ever written!

Big gestures weren’t their thing. They regularly forgot birthdays, and neither of them celebrated their anniversary - if, indeed, they knew when it was. Valentine’s Days came and went without a card or flower or mention. Even Christmases were occasionally celebrated on the wrong day owing to work. And even when they did celebrate, it was by spending the day in bed together rather than having a feast or opening presents.

This Valentine’s Day, their forth, had come and gone without a trace. Greg was lying across the sofa, his papers on his chest, his reading glasses dropped down to the tip of his nose. He was fast asleep, emitting soft snores and the occasional grunt.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock adjusted the cushion under his neck until he was in a more optimum position for breathing, and where he would not get a cricked neck. It had just gone midnight, and Greg had spent the whole day in court, watching his case be ripped to shreds by lawyers. All his work amounted to nothing, no conviction, no tap on the knuckles. The murderer - and he was the murderer, Sherlock was sure of that - walked brazenly out of court and back into the world.

Greg had sworn and hit his hand so hard against a wall that his knuckles bruised. He drank several beers, glaring at the television, and then fell asleep.

Sherlock had been far too busy to pay much attention to any of that going on, and instead he’d got back to their house to find Greg asleep on the sofa. He’d worked out the rest of it for himself.

He sank down in his usual chair, pulling his legs up to his chest as he stared at the man lying across from him as though he didn’t belong there.

Greg’s bad moods put Sherlock in a bad mood. He had to sit and watch Greg’s hunched shoulders and self-flagellation taking place in front of him, and usually he couldn’t say or do anything to make him feel better.

The date just gone - February 14 - was of no consequence whatsoever. Except for the ring, lying heavy in Sherlock’s shirt pocket. He continued to stare at Greg, disgruntled. He could just shove the ring on his finger, he supposed. It would be interesting to see how long it took him to realise he was even wearing it.

Perhaps that was too presumptuous.

Sherlock chewed his bottom lip. Waking Greg up was like throwing yourself into a pit of hungry bears. And Sherlock had tried every trick in the book during their four years together. He’d tried waking him up and then running away. He’d tried an alarm clock that flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room, but boy, that had been a mistake, because that was £20 wasted when Greg smashed it against the wall. Sherlock, for his sins, had found the whole thing hysterical while he lay naked in bed watching Greg crawl around trying to shut the darned thing up.

Sherlock smiled to himself. He had tried waking Greg up with kisses, but Greg usually warned about his own morning breath, even though it had never bothered Sherlock. He’d woken Greg up with a blowjob a few times and actually, that had gone down quite well. But then he usually fell asleep again immediately afterwards, and that wasn’t helpful when Sherlock needed him to be awake for one thing or another.

He tapped his fingers against his knee. He sighed and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. He would have to keep the ring for another day, he supposed. It didn’t matter what day he did it on anyway.

“Hey,” a tired voice came from the sofa. Sherlock opened his eyes to where Greg was sitting up, rubbing his eyes and putting his glasses down on the table. “Oh shit, my neck,” Greg muttered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I told you to stop sleeping on the sofa, and do you listen?”

“Nope. Gonna give me a rub?”

“No. It’s your own fault.”

Greg snorted and rubbed his neck, leaning back against the chair. “You alright?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded, although mundane questions like that always irritated him. It was quite obvious, he thought, that he was fine. He wasn’t bleeding or drunk or high. or injured in any way, in fact. “You?” Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer.

“Been better.”

They stared across at each other before Sherlock hauled himself out of the chair, wandering over to him and straddling Greg’s lap. He wrapped both arms around his neck, burying his head in his shoulder. Greg’s arms wound around him in return, holding him there. Sherlock sighed, kissing the side of his neck.

“How was Brighton?” Greg asked.

“Pointless. The case was barely a six. And the officers were more incompetent than… well.”

Greg laughed. “Yeah. Quit that sentence while you’re ahead.”

“You’re not incompetent,” Sherlock said, pulling back to look at him. Greg shrugged and Sherlock leaned forward, nudging his cheek with his nose. “You’re not.”

“Should go to sleep.”

Sherlock nodded. “In bed. Not the sofa.”

“Are you tired enough to join me, or have you got stuff to do?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I could join you, I suppose,” he said. “Did you know it was Valentine’s Day?”

Greg frowned at him, opening his mouth before slowly speaking. “I was aware of it, yeah. Why? You annoyed I didn’t get you anything?”

“No, of course not, it’s no different to any other day.”

Greg relaxed a little beneath him, reaching out and cupping Sherlock’s face. “Yeah. How attached are you to London?”

Sherlock frowned a bit, leaning into his touch. “Not as much as I was. Why?”

“Thinking I need a change of scenery. Not forever. Two weeks holiday will probably be long enough. What do you think?”

“Nowhere hot.”

“Skiing?”

“No.”

Greg frowned. “Somewhere in England then?”

“Yes.”

Greg captured Sherlock’s lips in a soft kiss. “Next week. Come away with me somewhere?”

“Okay then. You organise it.”

Greg smiled tiredly at him, dropping his hand. “Bed,” he muttered.

Sherlock hummed in agreement, before taking hold of Greg’s hand. He brought it to rest over his shirt pocket. Greg frowned at him, his hand pressing more firmly against the ring. “What you doing?” Greg asked. “What’s that?”

“A sentimental gesture,” Sherlock murmured, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. Greg reached into his pocket, fishing the platinum ring out and holding it between his thumb and index finger. Greg’s eyebrows raised, and he didn’t say anything as he examined it.

“Silver,” Greg murmured.

“Platinum.”

Greg looked at him. “Why platinum?”

“Platinum is a more durable metal.” Sherlock leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. “You’re too tired for this,” he murmured. “You’ve not even registered what it means.”

“No, I know what it means,” Greg said. “It’s just I was gonna propose on holiday, and you’ve sort of beaten me to it.”

Sherlock blinked and pulled back. Greg was smiling at him, his eyes still tired, but sparkling nonetheless. “Did you get the ring yet?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah, it’s in the coffee pot.” Sherlock frowned at him for a moment before getting up from his lap and padding through to the kitchen. He took a spoon and fished around in the pot until he found the plastic bag with the box inside. He carried the box through, holding it out in the palm of his hand. “Sit down,” Greg said, getting up from the sofa.

Sherlock pressed his lips together but did as he was instructed. Greg took the box from him, lowering himself down to the floor and getting down onto one knee. His knee cracked. They both looked at each other and laughed. “You don’t need to do that,” Sherlock said, smiling down at him, amused.

“Remind me never to do it again,” Greg replied, grinning.

“Does that mean no more blowjobs with you on your knees?”

“When was the last time I did that?”

Sherlock paused, considering. “Hmm. Good point. I forget how old you are.”

“Oi,” Greg said, grinning. He flicked open the box and held it out. “Platinum,” he said.

Sherlock bit his bottom lip. “Oh.”

Greg nodded, taking the ring out. “So,” he said. “I guess the fact you’ve got me a ring means your answer is yes.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Don’t presume. You have to ask.”

Greg grinned and rolled his eyes. “Bloody git,” he muttered. “Are you going to marry me or not?”

Sherlock smiled, holding his hand out. Greg laughed and pushed the ring onto his finger, before passing the other ring back to Sherlock to do the same to him. They entwined their fingers, holding one another’s eyes.

Sherlock bit his bottom lip.

“What’s up?” Greg asked.

“Can we remember this one?” Sherlock asked. “Just this day. Not the wedding or whenever our sex anniversary is. But this one… It’s easy enough to remember, it’s the day after Valentine’s Day.”

Greg nodded, and reached up, caressing Sherlock’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “The day you first kissed me was two days after Boxing Day. We stood underneath that railway bridge with the rain and the bloody train was causing a right racket. The day after that, we had sex for the first time, and I’ve never laughed so hard in my whole sodding life than when you were riding me while trying to explain the health benefits of sex.”

“Oh,” Sherlock murmured, biting his bottom lip. “I thought you didn’t know.”

“Did you know?” Greg asked, and Sherlock nodded in reply. “Ah. Right. Well, we’ll definitely remember this anniversary, yeah?”

Sherlock smiled and kissed him. “I suppose we should go to bed.”

Greg nodded, and got up, his knees cracking again. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, holding his hand out to Sherlock. “Dunno what you’re doing with an old git like me.”

Sherlock smiled, following him into the bedroom, beginning to pull his clothes off. “You’re very experienced in bed.”

Greg laughed. “Hey, Sher?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, alright? I know I don’t say it enough, or… ever, really. But I do. So you know.”

Sherlock nodded and smiled. He walked across the room until he could wrap his arms around Greg’s body and snuggle into his neck. “Can we tell everyone we got engaged on Valentine’s Day?” he asked. “It makes us sound very romantic.”

Greg just laughed and dragged him to the bed. “We can do whatever you want.” He kissed him, slowly and tenderly, until Sherlock was relaxed and stretched out over the bed beneath him.

He looked up at Greg and then down at the ring on his finger. “You know, Saint Valentine probably wore an amethyst ring,” he said.

Greg just laughed and kissed him, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. They made love, in the dark, clinging to one another. And just like that, February 15 had become the best day of Sherlock’s life.


End file.
